Battlefield
by whitetiger91
Summary: A certain young witch faces the battlefield, determined to not let the best-friend she left behind down. Written for the HPFC forum's 'The Competition that must not be Named.'


**Battlefield**

**_A/N: I do not own anything from the world of Harry Potter. _**

**_This fic was written for the HPFC forum's 'The Competition that must not be Named'. This is my second entry, and once again, I found it hard to write with all the 'she's and 'her's as we could not use a name. I hope this entry isn't too bad, and that you enjoy reading it :)_**

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"Come on, come on…." she hopped impatiently from one foot to the other, barely controlling the shaking of her hands from the adrenalin rush that had powered her here.

She was hungry and she was tired, but more importantly, she was desperate to get into the safety of the building. If only the elderly witch on the other side would come along and open the door, if only she would reverse the series of incantations that prevented them from getting inside, she could allow herself a second to rest. Her heart was thumping wildly, almost as if it could, at any minute, free itself from the confines of her chest. A slight sheen of sweat now covered her brow, yet she could not find the energy to wipe it away.

She quickly scanned the crowd jostling behind her for a familiar head of long, wavy hair. In her heart, she knew that she would not see her best friend there, but she did not give up hope. Surely she could still make it; she was strong enough, she could've pulled through. Her body was wracked with guilt over leaving her behind- no matter how much the young witch had insisted she save herself. All she could do that morning was run, giving a parting wave as they were rapidly separated. As soon as she got the chance, she would win this war for her.

Almost twenty witches, and a few wizards, pushed closer into her, almost crushing her delicate frame. A kid wailed in the background, complaining of sore feet from all the walking he had been forced to do, but it fell on deaf ears. Everybody, it seemed, was too preoccupied in helping themselves as they anxiously waited for salvation.

A familiar face caught her attention for a brief moment, blue eyes meeting brown. She felt her breathing hitch as she tried to resist slapping the girl across the face. It was not the time to release her pent up anger, no matter how much grief the pudgy girl had caused her during her school years. If, and only if, she survived, she would be sure to return the favour later.

A resounding 'click' drew her attention away and she looked towards the door in front of her. Its paint was peeling slightly, yet she was more interested in the shadowy figure as it slowly turned the golden handle. This was it.

She felt a push on her back as she surged forward over the threshold, footsteps thundering in behind her. Chancing a glance to the people flowing in on either side of her, she noticed a few witches had fallen victim to the stampede. Part of her wanted to help them, to tell them it would be alright, but she had to keep going.

Unfortunately, her relief at finally making it to the comfort of the building's sky blue walls was short lived. As the last people squeezed themselves through the throng, chaos erupted. Left, right and centre fights immediately broke out- wands were withdrawn and fists began to fly, no shame felt at the use of Muggle duelling techniques. It appeared as though they had all underestimated the enemy's power.

She ducked behind falling debris, covering her nose to block the foul smell that now permeated the air. Many of the witches and wizards had not showered in their hurry to arrive, yet it was the intoxicating gas that hung in the air that rendered her to a spluttering mess.

Through watery eyes, she made herself continue to battle on. Screams and curses filled the air, as she crawled under tables and over chairs.

"Oh no you don't."

Suddenly, she felt a firm grip encircle her ankle and drag her backwards. It was tight, her leg slowly turning numb as nails dug into her soft flesh. She had no doubt that she would have a few scars there in the morning, if not a large bruise. It didn't matter though- she would not find out if either did appear if she did not try to escape.

Twisting her body, she lifted her left hand and swiped it across her captor's face. 'Smack!' Her palm throbbed slightly, yet she knew it was nothing in comparison to the pain the man must have felt as a large red mark appeared on his cheek. He was particularly hairy, and if it weren't for the stolen purple scarf draped artfully around his thick neck, she would have wondered why he was there and not on another mission. Aiming a kick to the arm holding her, she sprung to her feet as he howled in pain.

He was not the only one now lying in pain- carefully, she stepped over a plump witch who was writhing on the ground, clutching a scratched hand. Everywhere she looked, people were either yelping in agony, or smiling gleefully as they triumphed over their opponent. Cries echoed around her, masked only by the loud crashes as furniture toppled over.

Finally, she spotted a beacon of hope. It was almost as though the weak daylight penetrating the grey lead-light windows had purposefully formed a golden halo around it. It was the very thing she had been hoping to find here, and it was still intact. If she could only reach it, claim it as her own, than it would mean that nothing that happened that day would have been in vain.

Mustering the last of her energy, she bounded over several large mounds obstructing her path, intent on making it to the other side of the room unscathed. Frantic hands clawed at her skirt and spells of blue and red shot above her head- the enemy was vicious, yet having her goal within sight would not allow her to be stopped.

In the last minute, a dark-haired witch stepped in her path, blocking her from continuing forward. She dug the heels of her shoes into the wooden floorboards, stopping just out of the cackling woman's reach. A wand was pointed at her chest, urging her heart rate to speed up to a pace she had never experienced before. A lump rose to her throat, and she struggled to maintain any air of calmness she had previously been faking. She was so close.

"Tut, tut, did you really think I would let you take it? It belongs to me!" her black eyes gleamed, betraying the madness she held.

Her own blue eyes darted from side to side, frantically trying to find a suitable weapon of which to use. She could withdraw her wand and use one of the many defensive spells she had learn in the defense club in her fifth year, however, she knew the woman before her would expect it- the older witch held an aura of experience about her, as though she had participated, and won, many battles like the one she was currently facing.

The woman strolled forward slowly, a smirk upon her pale face- she knew that she had her cornered. It was not until the witch reached up a thin finger to her hair and began to twirl a shiny black lock that she felt a wave of determination hit her. The woman's actions reminded her of her friend's own jet black hair, and she knew that she could not let her down.

Reaching behind her until she grasped something heavy and thick, she pounced forward. With strength she did not know she possessed, she swung the table leg into the witch's hip, hearing a satisfying 'thunk' as the wood splintered against her bone. Immediately, the woman curled into herself as she fell on her knees, gasping.

Time seemed to slow down as the table leg fell to her side and she dived forward. The woman's screamed curse was drawn out, but her attention was given only to her hand as it extended outwards. Almost, almost-

"Got it!"

Just as quickly, time picked up speed. Her hands had enclosed around the silky material, and she revelled in the way its softness kissed her skin. She treasured the way its emerald colouring looked even more beautiful now than anyone could have previously described, and brought it to the safety of her crossed arms so that no one could tug it from her grasp. She had done it- she had won.

Picking herself up and brushing away the dust that had gathered on her knees during the fall, she turned around. Making her way back across the room felt much easier, and she held her chin up as she braved her way over still bodies. The shouts and screams of witches and wizards still battling no longer bothered her, for she had what she needed.

"Quite a mess they're making, oh I do hope the Aurors come to settle them soon," a young witch appeared at her side, looking over her shoulder anxiously. "Those robes you're holding though, well they're quite lovely aren't they? That'll be twelve galleons please."

Sighing with relief, she handed over the appropriate coins and stepped out of the door. The fresh air felt good on her face compared to the stuffy atmosphere she left behind her. Checking her watch for the time, she decided it would now be fine to have some ice cream before she returned home with her new purchase. Who knew what a battlefield a sale at the popular robe shop could be?

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**_A/N: So as not to spoil the story, I'm writing another note here. I hope it wasn't too obvious what the plot was going to be. The character in mind is Lavender (who leaves Parvati behind so she can get there in time), and of course, the shop is Madame Malkim's Robes for Every Occasion. I drew my inspiration from an HSC story I wrote years ago as well as things I've witnessed at sales in the shops (although no one withdrew wands or bashed each other… I don't think) and dramatized it a bit. _**


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